


House of Simon

by MiniShawn



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Bullying, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Drama, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Orphanage, Suspense, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-06 10:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11034093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniShawn/pseuds/MiniShawn
Summary: Everybody kept saying he hung out around the blue-haired boy too much, but he just kept telling himself it was only because he had to - but did he have to? Or did he want to? ... no, he definitely had to. Orphanage!Dark!AU, StarSoul, multi-chap TWs: Bullying, Violence, Homophobia





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Doing the "page a day" challenge this summer! Hope you enjoy.

 

* * *

Gray clouds sauntered across the sky. Before it, a procession of tall, dark trees flashed by, one after another, in an endless barrage of green flitting past the cloudy window. Soul smirked; it wasn't often the weather matched his mood.

A pothole moved under the car, and the seat jolted Soul just enough to make him uncomfortable. No pain, just annoyance. The cab driver let an almost imperceptible smirk appear, but Soul knew his tendency to be bothered by something like this had been worn down over the years, like the smooth rocks settled on a riverbed.

The driver's smirk faded. "We're here."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, I finally get to be rid of you."

Soul's eyes remained fixed out the window. The trees cleared from either side of the road, revealing a desolate field impaled with shriveled corn stalks. In the center of this barren expanse sat a clump of oak trees, throwing a dim backdrop to a tall, narrow brick building with a pitched roof.

The Orphanage.

Tall windows glared down at the approaching cab. The steep roof loomed closer and closer, almost oppressively, signaling the beginning of a staredown: car versus stonework. Still forward the cab drove into the unfamiliar territory, cautiously lurching over rocks, potholes and ruts in the drive.

Brakes screeched to announce the arrival. Soul's eyes wandered up the building, studying each crack and vine working its insidious way into dark bricks. A building like that would usually last long – if anyone cared about it, Soul muttered.

His view was cut off by the cab driver approaching the window.

"Get out! I'm already late."

The door wrenched open to let in a chilly breeze. Soul set a foot out to map the ground and got out, only to feel the breeze envelop him in its full force. Leaves picked up and floated away into the cloudy sky, a formless, unending sheet which seemed to hover just above the rooftop.

The door thudded closed behind him, and the noise of the wind outside was muffled, now reduced to a low rumble emanating through the thick walls. The front hall extended before him in a long, narrow snake that wove a route back into the depths of the building, permitting in only small rays of light through the doors on either side. On the right wall was a narrow staircase rising to a gap in the ceiling, and a door to what looked like an office, where the cab driver could be seen whispering to a stout, wrinkly-faced woman.

"Yep, fourth time this year..."

"Well, he probably just needs to be disciplined harder, that usually clears up the issues, with most other-"

Something drew his attention away.

Far down the hall was a shadow. The darkness crept its way from one of the doorways. Inching, it grew into the hall, and Soul noticed himself staring but found his eyes fixed, unable to look away. The shadow seemed to have a purpose, or maybe a direction or motive to its creeping. Soul felt his neck hairs rising. The shadow reached the far baseboard and began climbing the wall, faster now.

Then it began retreating back into the doorway, melting back until nothing remained.

"Hey, who are you?"

Soul felt his head give a fearful jerk to face the sound. On the staircase had appeared a figure which escaped his notice, having been so preoccupied with the surreal shadow down the hall. Standing halfway up the flight now stood a boy, about his age, clothes covered in stains and filled with holes. This, all crowned by a tuft of light blue hair. And now, looking mildly annoyed.

"Over there in the red pants! Hey, can you hear me??"

It now became apparent that Soul had been studying the blue-haired boy's appearance for much longer than would be considered necessary.

"I'm Soul. Soul Evans." He said with a humph, and ran his hand through his hair, casting an eye to the wall. Hopefully the boy hadn't noticed his embarrassment.

The boy shifted his stance on the stairs. "What, can't handle my presence? I'm Blake! You should know me, at least, I'm gonna be big one day."

Soul couldn't help but notice the boy's smile seemed a bit forced. He forced one himself and turned to watch the cab driver whisper to the old woman in the office.

The boy's voice interrupted. "Come on, I should show you something."

Floorboards creaked under Soul's feet, though he noticed Blake's plodding steps uttered nothing but silence. The door passed him on the side, revealing a dark room containing but one bed, one table, and no person. The window was boarded up from the outside.

-v-

An overgrown dirt path lead down the hill behind the building, delving into a ragged field of weeds slightly taller than either of the boys. Soul followed Blake out the back door and down the path, watching as weeds rose around him and blocked out his line of sight. Blake was walking at a brisk pace, rapidly outpacing Soul, who struggled to keep up against the feeling that getting left behind in these weeds would be an unnerving experience.

The two emerged into a grassy clearing containing, from what Soul could tell, nothing more than a single twisted and dead-looking tree. The sky was darkening overhead, and monotone rustling emanated from the weeds behind them as the wind coursed through - Soul put a hand on his hair to keep it from blowing around.

Blake walked around to the back of the tree and emerged with a shovel. A thrust into the ground, followed by a cracking of roots as he pried up the sod; Soul stared at the growing pile of dirt beside the hole, and took a few steps forward to peer in. Blake thrust the shovel and hollow noise rang out.

"Haha! I knew it would still be here!" Blake jumped down into the hole to claw the dirt to uncover the lid of a wooden box, and Soul clambered down into the hole to inspect it. It was only a few inches across, and didn't look to be very old, or have any writing on it. Blake grabbed the corner and lifted it out onto the grass. "Open it, don't you wanna know what's inside?."

Soul took the invitation with some caution. Cracking the lid, the inside revealed itself to contain only some cheap nick-knacks: a marble, a necklace, an election pin made illegible by rust, and a dollar coin, among others.

The wind hastened and Soul once again used a hand to keep down his hair. Blake stood looking down into the box, eyes glazed over as if looking into the distance. He seemed to be staring at something far beyond the box, deep underground and hidden from the world. "Soul, I need something of yours."

Soul took a step back. "What? Why, what do you want?"

"It doesn't matter, it can be anything."

Black clouds were now starting to creep from behind the orphanage roof. Tree leaves scattered, and Soul felt a water droplet on his neck.

"Why?"

Black Star remained with eyes fixed on the box. "It's to protect you. Just trust me."

Soul hesistated for a moment before silently giving way. He fished through his pockets and found the old thimble, old and banged up, covered in rust. He held it to his chest for a few seconds, then sighed and handed it over.

Blake set it in the box, closed the lid, and set the box back in the hole. "Come on, help me cover it up!" Soul crouched down and began pushing the mound of dirt back into the hole with his hands.

They patted down the dirt and Blake put back the shovel. The droplets rained down more frequently now, and Soul could see Blake's blue hair beginning to cling to his forehead as droplets ran down his face. Blake turned and started for the orphanage.

Soul ran a few steps to catch up. "Hey. What was that room for? The one just down the main hall?"

Blake paused. "What did you see?" His tone had become hard.

The question threw Soul off, and he stumbled to formulate a response. "Augh, I think there was a shadow, nothing serious."

Blake turned to him for a moment, then exhaled and looked back up to the brick building. There was a moment before he spoke.

"That's Simon's room. They took him away a few years ago."

Soul took a minute to process. "Where'd they take him?"

Blake began walking again as the rain got heavier. "They didn't tell me…," he paused again, not even trying for a smile. "but I can already tell it wasn't far enough."

 


	2. Napkin

 

“What’ll it be today?”

Wouldn’t that have been nice to hear, Soul thought.

Instead, his bowl filled with cabbage soup. The lunch lady slid the tray down the line.

Blake had run off to go “do something”. The second they got back from burying the box, and he was already off doing other things, who knows where.

He looked around.

Blake was now sitting at a crowded table on the far side of the cafeteria, caught up in relaying a story with wild arm gestures. The audience hung spellbound. Soul scouted an empty table by a window nearby; interrupting Blake’s story would probably be the worst possible first impression he could make on Blake’s friends, there was no way to introduce him without breaking his story’s narrative.

He set his tray down and could already feel the cold breeze coming in from the missing window panes.

Then, a strange thing happened.

Agentle breeze blewacross his tray and picked up a napkin. It glided across the room. Higher. And still higher, flitting and twisting across the tables and heads, almost touching the ceiling once, until deciding to come back down and rest on someone’s lunch tray – Soul watched it float down from on high, lower and lower, until it came to a rest, like on a cushion,upon a pile of mashed potatoes. Soul’s eyes traveled upwards from the potatoes to the guy sitting behind the tray.

He was unusually large. His eyes fixed on the napkin like it had just murdered that which he held dearest. In this case, his lunch.

“Oi! Who did that?”

The words cut clear across the room.

He turned and his eyes narrowed in on Soul, who realized too late he was staring.

“This yours, skinny boy?”

Soul nodded with a shred of annoyance, and the guy stood up to reveal a large gut, barely covered by a stretched-out black hoodie. He lumbered, one leg after the other, and carried down the aisle to Soul’s table.

“You think it’s funny to throw a napkin on my food, huh?”

Soul shook his head in a manner he hoped was convincing. “Not all that funny, it was kind of boring actually-”

He was cut off: the guyhad begun laughing. Heads were beginning to turn to the coarse sound.

Soul gave him an incredulous look.

Blake was now keeping an eye on their conversation, a fact that disconcerted Soul, but not enough to worry him. The guy’s chuckling faded out, and he re-positioned his legs. “I’m Mike. Tell ya what, come with me and I’ll show ya something real neat, how about it?”

Soul scowled; this idiot couldn’t take a hint. “I’m finishing my lunch right now. Maybe later.”

Mike’s smile dropped. There was a pause as he looked around the room.

“Well, I guess we’re doing this the hard way-”

With that, Soul felt a hand close around his shirt, with a grip only describable as the strongest he’d ever felt. His shoes left the floor- Mike’s arm was longer than he’d expected- and he peered down to see the tiles shifting beneath his feet. All were gawking at the sight.

The cafeteria door banged open: There stood a tall man wearing a dark green military uniform, jaw chiseled and locked sternly.

“Evans, Soul! Mrs. Varquist would like to speak with you.” his voice boomed. Soul felt the grip release.

His feet hit the ground. Mike was walking away now.

Jiggling with rage.

 

-v-

 

“Enter” came a voice, like vinegar, from within. The suited man opened the door.

The office was dusty, but less so than the hallway; Soul noticed the windows still sporting glass, probably the only room in the building which hadn’t had its windows punched out yet.

“Mr. Evans, please take a seat.” The tart voice came again, making Soul’s hair stand on end. He hated when people used his last name, and as if it wasn’t bad enough that the whole cafeteria knew his real name, now the voice speaking it was annoying, too.

He linked the offending sound to the stout old woman with gray hair standing by the file cabinets.She opened one, and light spilled over the mess of ratty old papers crammed inside.

Soul sat down. His face was still flushed, thinking how uncool it was to get lifted up by someone in front of the entire cafeteria. No doubt, the incident would be the only thing anybody else knew about him. Considering it, though, he didn’t really care as much what they thought of him, not compared to Blake at least.

Why not, though? He paused to consider, was it because Blake was the only person he’d talked to? Did that-

“Aha!”

The woman held up a triumphant hand, folder in grip, and slammed the cabinet shut. Soul watched as she hobbled back to the far side of the desk. The sign on her desk read “Mrs. Varquist”. Soul thought the name suited her uncomfortably well.

“What we have here, young man,” she set the folder down with a long-nailed hand, “are your records and release forms. I requested copies from the previous institutions in which you somehow found shelter.” She opened the folder and tilted the top paper up to read it. “1932, transfer from Northbrook Home for Children and Vagrants, reason for transfer, vandalism. Is that correct?”

Soul nodded.

Varquist pursed her lips and continued. “and here, August 1933, just this month, transfer out of Collsworth Institute for the Insane and Delinquent, reason, Contempt for Authority and destruction of property. Also true?”

Again, Soul just nodded, though his brow was scrunching.

“And what do you have to say for this behavior?”

Soul slid down in his chair and stared at the ceiling. What happened happened, it wasn’t really her business anyways, but he didn’t feel like starting an argument, that would be so uncool…

Varquist seemed to understand his quiet as a form of defiance. She scooted her chair out from the desk and stood up. Footsteps, cold on the wood floor, began in circle around the chair, one following the other.

“Mr. Evans, I want to be clear about one thing. There is no room for you here; we are already understaffed and over-packed with children your age.” She took a pause for effect. “If I so much as hear one complaint against you, I will not hesitate to take corrective measures, do I make myself clear?”

A nod.

Varquist continued, “And if I discover even one piece of furniture or otherwise, broken in your room, I should warn you, furniture is not the only thing in this building capable of suffering damage.”

Soul’s eyes widened. Varquist, completing her circle around the room, returned to her seat. She saw the look on Soul’s face and smiled in a grim satisfaction.

“That will be all for now. I’m sending you to see our resident nurse and housekeeper to take care of you. Top of the stairs, fourth door on the right. You can see yourself out.”

With that, she picked up the papers and returned them to the filing cabinet.

 

The upstairs hallway was even filthier than downstairs, and just as dingy. Soul counted the doors on his right until reaching number four. He knocked twice, and a meek girl’s voice came from the other side.

“You can come in, I’m just cleaning some things.”

He nudged the door open: The room was long and narrow, with a high ceiling and a window on the far wall. Lining either side were dinged-up yellow cabinets, like in an old kitchen, and standing near the far end stood one of the most beautiful girls Soul had ever seen. She had a clear, white skin and a light-beige dress, with a dark black ponytail that went down to knee-height.

The girl turned to him. “Oh, you must be the one I heard them talking about.” She smiled. “My name’s Tsubaki, what’s yours?

The two of them exchanged pleasantries, or at least the closest thing to being pleasant Soul felt he could stomach at the moment. Then she asked him to sit on the counter so she could wipe his arm with a cold swab. She was taller than he was, and had no issue reaching his shoulder, even when he was high up on the counter.

“This will only hurt for a second,” she said, “We have to do this now; there was an outbreak last year and 4 girls and 3 boys died from it.”

Soul shifted, put off by the calmness in her voice.

“7 people?”

Tsubaki showed no sign of pause and continued disinfecting his shoulder. “We think it was Pneumonia, or maybe Tuberculosis, or something. The real doctors wouldn’t even set foot here…” She set the swab down. “Look away, if you could.”

Soul did as he was told and felt a pinch on his shoulder. He looked to see, and saw a half-inch needle being drawn out from his arm.

“All done!” Tsubaki said with a faint smile.

Soul could hardly believe the size of the needle. “That thing was just inside me?!”

Tsubaki took the needle out and threw it in a plastic bin. “Yes, that’s an older model; we buy old stock for a discount, it saves-.”

Soul didn’t hear the end of her sentence. The floor thudded as he hopped off the counter. “Can I go now? I really have to use the bathroom.”

He didn’t wait for a response.

Running into the bathrooms, the smell hit him and the nausea grew worse. His head was spinning; seeing the needle was such a shock, even after Tsubaki had warned him not to look. He dove into a stall and began vomiting. Bit by bit, he watched as his entire lunch came back up and into the toilet bowl, floating around in an unappetizing manner. He gripped the bowl and continued with a grimace.

A voice came from behind. “So, skinny boy couldn’t keep his lunch down, huh?”

He turned to see Mike standing at the door to the stall, face sporting an ear-to ear smirk.

Oh, perfect.

Soul turned back to the toilet bowl. “Not after looking at that thing you call a face. Wanna fuck off?”

Mike’s smirk disappeared.

He reached his hand out and grabbed Soul’s collar. The grip tightened around his neck before his feet lifted from the ground. Then, the hand released.

His cheek slammed into the sticky floor. The hand picked him up again, and he was face-to-face with Mike’s twisted grin. His breath was awful, and Soul felt nausea approaching again.

“So, you think you can just play limp and let me do whatever I want?”

A dull pain filled Soul’s gut, each individual knuckle leaving its mark.

“Well, I can tell ya now-”

The pain again.

“-I’m not gonna leave it that easy for ya.”

He could feel it now. The nausea was coming back.  
It happened before Soul could control it. He opened his eyes just in time to see Mike’s vomit-splattered face turn from anger to disgust.

The same feeling of his cheek colliding with the floor. and he felt vomit seeping into his hair. Mike’s footsteps stopped, followed by the sound of a sink turning on and vigorous use of the soap dispenser. He lifted his head to see Mike wiping his face like his life depended on it.

“Soul! What’s going on?!”

A disgusted Blake stood in the doorway, surveying the scene. Eyes moved back and forth from the mess on the floor, up to Mike, then back again, then back up to Mike.

His look of shock turned to a snarl. “You again...”

Mike turned from the sink to face him. “Yeah, punk? And what?”

Blake walked over to Soul and lifted him by the arm. Soul ripped his arm out of Blake’s grip, and felt a pain in his arm. “Hey, I can deal with this on my own…”

Mike paid no attention to Soul. “Like hell you’re taking him, that little shit just barfed all over me! Just you do it, watch what fucking happens.”

“Try and stop me.” said Blake, and he began dragging Soul by the wrist. Not even an attempt at a smile.

Soul couldn’t speak up in time. Mike came lunging at Blake from behind, arms swinging like clubs.

It happened quickly: Blake’s ears pricked up to hear the heavy footsteps. Hedropped Soul’s wrist and turned around.

With a swift kick, he launched his foot straight into Mike’s gut.

Mike stumbled backwards and tried to regain his footing, looking dazed before keeling over and coughing. Coughing turned to retching. The last Soul saw was of Mike on his hands and knees, head hung low and mouth dribbling with vomit.

 

Blake pushed the door open. He helped Soul into his room, arm slung over his shoulder, and sat him down on the unmade bed. “You alright?”

Soul murmured something unintelligible and laid back on the mattress with a groan. His stomach was still sore, and thanks to the stomach acid, his throat was beginning to approach the same condition.

He saw Blake bend down and begin rummaging under the bed, and emerge just after with a piece of old paper towel. He began wiping the vomit off Soul’s face.

“There, that’s better.” Blake took a few steps back and to see his work. He started grinning before breaking out into a full-on howl of laughter. “I can’t believe you just barfed all over Big Mike! He’s probably gonna have to wash it all out himself! Can you imagine?”

Soul couldn’t help resist smiling a bit seeing how hard Blake was laughing. He himself didn’t find it all that funny given the circumstances. Blake bent over and began slamming his hand on the floor. “And then he barfed all over himself, too! And fell down in it!” He laughed even harder; Soul began to worry someone would hear and come to see what was going on. The laughter died down eventually, and he came to sit next to Soul on the bed.

“You said it’s Soul Evans, right?”

Soul nodded his head. There was something he needed to ask, something he’d failed thus far to understand. “Why do we have that general guy with the club, if he’s not keeping Mike in line?”

Blake’s face got serious. “Oh! That’s Sergeant Wallis. He’s a state employee or something, he’s supposed to be a disci- dispinary officer or something, I dunno. Don’t go provoking him though, Big Mike either. Only I can get away with that.”

Soul was beginning to sense Blake might be living in a world of his own fantasy but decided not to comment.

Blake continued. “He’s Mike’s dad, though, which sucks cause he takes Mike’s side on everything.”

“But they don’t look anything alike!”

The smile on Blake’s face grew wider, only for a second. “Mike’s probably gonna tattle about how I kicked him in the stomach. That’s what happened last time, that didn’t turn out so good…” he looked to the floor and let his eyes drift.

Soul sensed the conversation moving into uncomfortable territory. The sun was setting outside the window. “Why’d he come after me, anyways? It was just a stupid napkin..”

Blake’s voice raised as if he was eager to answer. “I think it’s cause he looks like a garbage barge. He’s probably just jealous.”

Soul burst out laughing at the “garbage barge” comment, but stopped when he noticed Blake staring at him. “What? What is it?”

Blake leaned in closer. “Your teeth, they’re so sharp!”

Soul shrunk. “Yeah.” He stared up at the ceiling. “They always get in the way, it’s like people are afraid of them or something.”

Blake reached out a finger and put it in Soul’s mouth, worming it around his teeth and caressing the razor edge of one. “Wow! Those things must be like the ultimate defense weapon… do you ever use them on people?”

Soul furrowed his brow. “Like, cut them?”

Blake nodded with enthusiasm.

“Well, not really, I- usually I just keep them hidden.”

Blake was visibly disappointed. “Well, I’m gonna make sure to keep you around, those things are gonna come in handy here. Especially if you’re gonna keep acting like you did in the cafeteria.”

Soul felt his face go red; wasn’t that just called standing up for yourself? Maybe that was why they always beat him up… Memories of Northbrook started coming up, but he had learned how to keep them locked up and, with a swift mental gesture, pushed them to the back of his head and coughed to clear his throat.

“Didn’t you act like that too? In the bathroom just now?”

Now it was once again Blake’s turn to be uncomfortable; he bent down to rummage under the bed again, probably trying to hide it.

“Well, I’m not arrogant though. I can back it up.”

Soul was about to object, but Blake continued. “Besides, I had to. He woulda crushed you, probably! Good thing I showed up.”

Now Soul could feel himself angering.

Blake came out from under the bed, holding a small piece of bread. Soul’s stomach rumbled, to his chagrin; it would be totally uncool to call out someone who was about to feed you, even if they were a hypocrite. Blake smirked, obviously aware of the power play, and broke the bread. He set half on Soul’s lap and hopped back up on the mattress. “Don’t go barfing it up again.”

The satisfaction of eating was almost enough to distract him the humiliation, accepting food from someone who just called you cocky for standing up to a shithead. Blake watched him chew the bread, an infuriating grin on his face. Maybe Blake was the shithead.

The boy in question shifted his gaze. “So did they tell you where your room is?”

Soul shook his head no.

“Well, that means you can just pick a spot. The room right across from me is empty, I’m gonna have you stay there just in case. Sometimes Mike likes to come back for seconds.”

Soul nodded and hopped off the bed. He felt a bit better now that his head stopped spinning, and the taste of vomit was almost gone. The room was growing dark; the sun had managed to slip below the horizon. They left the room in silence.

Blake twisted the knob on an old kerosene lamp and a dim orange light shone out from the bulb. The sheets in this room were dirty, but other than that it wasn’t all that different from the previous places he’d stayed, Soul thought. Blake went back to the door and began drawing it closed behind him. “If you need anything, just holler” he said, grinning before the door clicked shut.

Soul moved to the bed and fell into it with resign. If the coming days were any worse than this one, this might end up being even worse than the last places he’d stayed. Of course, nobody there had taken a shine to him on the first day like Blake had.

Actually, this was pretty much the situation he’d always gotten into. Someone would end up having it out for him, and the whole gang would get involved eventually- it would be his red eyes, his white hair, his sharp teeth, or something worse. If there was one thing the orphanages taught you, it was keeping friendships shallow.

It would probably have to be that way with Blake too.

He was taken from his thoughts by movement in the corner of his eye. His heart started racing.

Something was moving on the wall. He squinted: it was hard to tell, but what looked like a faint shadow was moving up from the kerosene lamp, moving up the wall in a slow creep. It got darker, and Soul felt his blood chill.

The shadow formed a mouth and it moaned, an empty voice-

 

“Evvaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnssss……”

 

The light went out and the shadow was overcome by darkness.

 

Something shattered, and Soul felt a sharp pain in his arm.

 

The door opened, and the room once more filled with an orange light. There stood Blake with a worried look and a kerosene lamp.

“Was that Mike again?! I heard something break in here.”

His eyes moved from Soul to the table. Soul followed his gaze and saw the lamp which held the shadow: the bulb lay in pieces on the table next to it.

Blood dripped from the table’s edge.

Blake set down his own lamp and rushed over to the bed. “What did he do?!”

Soul looked down to his arm in panic. There, against the pale white skin, lay a jagged cut. It oozed blood into the sheets, blood that ran a deep red as it soaked into the linens, permeating every pore like the ivy working its way into the orphanage’s crumbling brick walls.

Blake still sat, expecting an answer.

 

”...I don’t know.”


	3. Bread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I am so done sitting on this chapter and pretending it's gonna change substantially. Seriously, I gotta spend my time actually getting you guys updates. Here you all go! I'm currently working on Ch5 if you're at all curious.
> 
> Oh, and sorry this one's short, it's kind of a set up for chapter 4. It's worth it, trust me ('3')

Light shone in through the boarded up windows, but it was a dim light; the sun had probably just risen. Soul turned to the side of his bed, only for the stinging to return.

He hadn't slept at all that night. Every time he tried, he kept imagining he felt something, someone touching him, something other than the bed sheets- it was hard to explain. Could it be residue from a dream? Maybe. A mental impression of the day earlier? Hard to say.

He walked down the stairs to the cafeteria and stood in line, with a dull hunger becoming noticeable. As much as he wished to take his mind off things, something caught his eye: there in the corner was a cowering kid, crouched down by the baseboard, surrounded by taller guys.

"What's the matter, pussy? Huh?"

The kid had his head buried in his arms, legs pulled up and trembling. One of the guys took a step forward. "You don't wanna go dig a hole for us? Are you sure? It might be smart of you to do it." He kicked the kid in the shin and a small whimper escaped.

Soul kept focus on the line in front of him. It didn't help; everything they were saying could still reach his ears. Sometimes, imagination could be worse than the real thing, but he'd take the risk- getting caught staring wouldn't be good; the guys were all taller and stronger looking than him.

Every nerve in his body screamed to go help, to go up and stand up for the kid, help him up, walk him away, help him fight if he needed to- but he kept his feet planted. In a new environment, better to wait for a good grasp on the competition. Like Blake did- where was he anyways? Blake would take them on, he was sure of it: Blake would go up to them, grab one of them by the shoulder and ask them to quit, and if they didn't-

He noticed his eyes getting sore.

"Hey! You in line or not, kid?"

The line had moved a few feet in front of him and the kids behind him were cutting in front. He couldn't blame them; here, food was usually the only highlight of the day.

These thoughts were interrupted. Somewhere there was a loud rumbling sound, and all heads spun to the front of the room: the cooking lady was rolling down an iron cover over the lunch window.

Just like that, the Cafeteria began a gradual descent into mayhem. First kids were getting up and bumping into each other, next bowls were flying, kids crawling over tables to grab from people's trays. Soul watched. A kid grabbed a fistful of spaghetti from someone's tray and shoved it into his mouth, all the while a girl pulling on his hair in desperation reclaim what was hers.

A loaf of bread landed on the floor near Soul, rolling to a stop at his feet. He bent down and picked it up hoping nobody saw, and snuck it away in the inner pocket of his jacket.

Then a hand closed on Soul's arm.

His eyes wandered up to the source, a familiar face.

Mike.

The same shit-eating grin from earlier, the same shirt. And he hadn't washed it.

The grin turned into a pouty face. "So, little Soul keeping any food for himself? Hmm?"

Soul scowled and tried wrenching his arm from the grip. Again, it proved to be in vain.

Mike started fishing through Soul's pockets. His hand emerged holding the loaf of bread.

"Aww, thought you could hide something from me? Thought I wouldn't find it?" Mike brought his arm back before Soul could react. Brunt force collided with his nose. The force was so strong he fell back onto the tiles. Immediately somebody stepped on both his arms- he couldn't get up. Looking around, the two people holding him down seemed to be in league with Mike.

Soul cursed under his breath. Blake couldn't see him like this; he'd look so pathetic, there was no way that blue-haired kid could ever get held down, he'd probably be kicking their asses right about now…

Mike took a few steps forward and crouched down next to Soul, who could do nothing but struggle to free his arms. "Whatcha gonna do, little pussy? Want the bread back? You gotta come get it."

"Call me a pussy one more time-" Soul struggled even harder but the people stepping on his arms were doing well. His stomach growled, and Mike heard, and taunted a smile. Soul watched as he set the bread on the ground and stood up.

"Here, watch what happens when you're too weak to protect your food."

Soul could only watch as Mike brought his dirty shoe down onto the bread. The stomp smashed the loaf, flattening it into a mashed-looking pancake: the loaf squished out from under his shoe, dough blackened from the crud on Mike's sole.

Mike's lackeys removed their shoes from Soul's arms and walked away. Mike followed, but not before shooting another sneer down at Soul.

As soon as they were gone, he stood up and rushed for the door, bobbing between struggles and flying bits of food. He burst out into the hall and headed for the bathroom.

The sinks were dirty but he didn't care. He leaned over one and turned on the water, and tried to wash the shoe prints off his sleeves. He scrubbed with a vengeance, in the hope the gray marks and smudges would just disappear. It didn't work. Well, there went his last nice clothes, he realized; it would always bear those scars, scars reminding him of the bread, of his weakness.

He turned the water off. Gripping the sink, he stared into the mirror and looked at his own face. Pathetic, standing there, panting in the bathroom: jacket dirty and wet, nose red and sore from Mike's fist. He let his eyes pierce into themselves. Those were the eyes of someone who let them take his only food, take it right from his arms. Someone who couldn't protect what was important to him: not food, not even himself, let alone anybody else.

Somebody who couldn't take care of himself, in the face of even three people. Just three. And two of them were barely even trying.

He could feel the jealousy rising within his chest. It was a bitter feeling, a feeling of desire and angst. He knew where it was coming from, as much as he tried to deny it to himself.

He was jealous of Blake.

Blake would never have let them take his food. Blake wouldn't have gotten pinned down because he was stronger than that. Blake was just… on another level entirely, a level inhabited only by survivors. He wished he could be on that level, a level where you could defend yourself, not have to rely on others to save you from your own pitiful beating-

Soul was having trouble looking at himself. The mirror was covered in water spots, obscuring his reflection, but not so much that he couldn't see himself in this ugly state: dirty jacket, skinny, weak. He'd always looked that way, but only now was it becoming a problem- at the other places, standing up for yourself had always been enough, but here, here they would walk all over you if you didn't go on the offensive. It was completely different to anything he'd experienced, no wonder Blake was tougher than anyone else he'd ever met: he had to be; it was the only way.

All that, and now he'd disappeared? Soul hadn't seen him in the lunch room, thinking back, and that was saying something; he'd watched him the first day in the lunchroom, and if there was one thing Blake loved it was eating- there's no way he would skip lunch…

Soul left the bathroom and sulked upstairs to his bedroom. Before entering, he saw the door opposite his was still closed. There was a little blue piece of paper taped to it, with a crudely drawn star in black crayon. Maybe Blake was still asleep.

He pushed the door open. The room was just as messy as the first time he'd seen it: dirty socks and shirts strewn across the floor, unmade bed in the corner, trash covering the tabletop; it looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years.

The bed had a lump under the sheets. Soul walked over and lifted the blanket: nothing but a dirty pillow. Crouching down and looking under the bed revealed nothing, save mounds of stuff.

He sat down on the bed and looked around the room. One thing he hadn't noticed the when he was here the first time was that there were political posters up on the walls. They were faded and torn, and the tape on the corners was beginning to turn brown.

One of the posters stood out. It looked like a campaign for the white house, or maybe for local mayor? It was hard to tell; Soul didn't pay much attention to politics, he was usually too focused on finding a meal or finding something mildly entertaining to do at the places he stayed. It was odd, imagining Blake actually took interest in something so far away when his immediate surroundings were so demanding.

His eyes moved down to the floor. How could anybody let their room be so disgusting? He remembered his own rooms at the places he'd stayed: they weren't immaculate by any means, but at least you could see the floor- Blake obviously wasn't someone who cared much about being comfortable, or at least cared more about other things at any rate. Soul couldn't help but wonder what it was Blake cared about so much; it obviously wasn't about his living conditions, but what else was there at a place like this? It must be his friends, Soul realized; he hadn't actually met any of Blake's friends. He made a mental point of getting introduced to them some time this week.

All this thinking tired Soul, in mind and in body. The bed didn't look that disgusting, at least not compared to the floor. He laid his head down on the pillow and resolved to rest for a minute then leave. The bed was surprisingly comfortable; it had a lived-in feeling, a depression in the mattress that conformed to his body and made him even more relaxed. He felt is eyelids getting heavy. The pillow was so soft, all his senses were slipping away…

-v-

There he was, in a dark room. The floors and walls were all a deep black, such a deep black that he wasn't sure whether they were even there or if he was staring out into a void.

He turned around, and there in the corner stood Blake. They both stood there for a minute, staring at each other and not sure what to say; it was strange, the normal expectation to run over to each other and question what was going on, that expectation was gone, and in its place was an understanding that nothing really mattered: they were just there.

Soul heard a sound from the corner of his field of vision. A group of ninja came flying from the void, directly towards Blake.

Blake stood still until the ninja were just a few feet away, then did a twist and jumped up into the air. Mid-spin, he kicked each and every ninja in the face, one by one, knocking them off trajectory and out once more into the void. He performed all this in complete silence, not even a single grunt or swish in the air, then landed on his feet with the agility of a cat.

Once more he turned to stare at Soul. His eyes were emotionless, and seemed to be completely black. Soul felt a twinge of uneasiness at the sight; this was completely unlike the Blake he knew, almost an evil clone, but something within him sensed it was the real Blake.

A voice rang out in the room, a booming, low voice.

"Pathetic…"

Soul could tell the voice was directed at him, though it wasn't coming from Blake's mouth.

The voice came again, this time louder. "Pathetic..."

Again, something flashed in the corner of Soul's eye. He looked up to see more ninja coming from the void, but this time, they were headed not for Blake, but directly at himself.

He felt the first's shoe connect with his face, and almost immediately after felt his head bang on the floor. He skidded a few feet back, and felt more ninja landing on top of him, piling up and tearing him to shreds. He felt one tear off his arm, but there was no pain.

Behind them, he could barely see Blake walk up, staring down with his blackened eyes.

The voice came again, this time from Blake's lips.

"Pathetic..."

-v-

He woke up panting, eyes searching frantically around the room for any sign of a ninja.

Nothing.

Soul sat up in the bed and felt the sheets roll off him. In his slumber, he had pulled the sheets up over himself and snuggled right in, it appeared. The warmth of the bed still enveloped his legs, and he didn't want to get up. Blake's room was so much more inviting than his own, and the bed was so comfortable, it felt so wrong but he didn't want to leave.

Then he remembered Blake was still missing, and the whole lunch debacle, and realized he'd better get back to searching.

The school hallways were all lined with doors; Soul wasn't even sure there was so much as a five foot stretch of solid wall along the entire wall of the main hall, so numerous were the openings. He opened every single one, searching for blue hair: he mostly found empty rooms, janitors closets, storage closets, and kids playing cards on their beds.

Then he came to the door he'd seen on the first day. The one to the room with the shadow creeping out. He took a breath and turned the knob.

The door didn't budge.

He pushed harder. The door remained steadfast.

"and just what do you think you're doing, young man?"

He turned his head and saw Mrs. Varquist hobbling down the hall, at a speed so great he was sure she was about to lose her balance and go rolling away. Soul took a second to indulge in the fantasy of tripping her and watching her roll out the back door into the mud.

She reached him and tore his hand from the doorknob.

"Just you try that one more time, and there will be severe consequences, do you understand?"

Soul looked at her face. She seemed quite serious in her threat.

He nodded in bitter acknowledgment, and she smirked and headed back to the front office.

Soul took a few steps away from the door to appraise it. It was covered in scratches, an old door: the edges were worn and the paint chipped, to the point where the door seemed physically older than the trim surrounding it.

He closed his eyes and took a step forward. Then another, followed by another. He reached out his arm and touched the doorknob-

A jolt went through his body, and his sight flickered black for a moment. He saw vividly, a picture of an old room, with a small child in the center, dressed in black. It was staring directly at him with a deviant smile.

His vision came back, and he stumbled back from the door. Something odd was happening on the wall. From the door frame crept a small mark, a shadow. It got larger and larger as it emanated from the wood, almost as if it had been trapped and was just now making an escape. Its movements traveled along the wall in stilted, lurching motions. Soul fell back onto the floor in shock, and watched it creeping higher, along the hall back into the bowels of the building. The shadow stopped, and the head jerked back to look at him. Soul felt instantly paralyzed, as if the eyes were boring into him. The shadow turned and continued down the wall. Soul gave a minute for his heart to catch up to him, and watched the shadow from the corner of his eye. The shadow made it five doors down and disappeared into the sixth door frame.

Soul watched the shadow disappear, and waited a moment before cautiously standing up. He approached the sixth door. It looked much newer than the other door, and was painted a dark green. He reached out to turn the knob, and was surprised when the door cracked open. He tried to open it more but it caught- there was a chain closing it from the inside. He peered in through the crack and saw old wooden stairs descending down into the darkness. Squinting, he could just make out two small faint circles near the bottom of the stairs.

Then the circles moved.

They lunged forward, with the scream of a banshee, and Soul saw they were attached to the shadow. It raced closer and closer, up the stairs, and with a shriek, raced through Soul's forehead. Soul felt a sharp pain, and fell back just in time to see the shadow disappear up into the ceiling.

The door slammed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 4! I think you will like this one :3 Chapter 5 I just finished today! Gotta sit on it for a while before posting though.  
> This is the end of section one. Expect the next chap in a week or two!

**4**

 

“What do you want? I’m not letting you in that room, if that’s what you’re after.”

Mrs. Varquist was busy cramming papers into the filing cabinet, her manner suggesting a certain lack of desire for being bothered, especially by a certain white-haired boy. She’d probably be even more angry if I just left and had bothered her for no reason, Soul mused. “You know where Blake went? I haven’t seen him all day.”

Varquist humphed and took pause from the filing cabinet. “You know the children aren’t my responsibility. If they want to get fed, they’ll stick around. If they wanna starve, they can leave.”

This sort of response wasn’t what Soul had hoped to hear, but it was at least what he’d expected.

“And what’s it to you anyways?” Varquist was beginning to sound irritated.

“Nothing. There’s just one more thing I wanna know.”

The old woman paused again, probably to prepare her most acidic voice. “ _What_.”

Soul considered the possibility of telling her how the orphanage seemed to have a resident poltergeist, then decided against it.

“Nothing, nevermind.”

The fury on Varquist’s face was even better than Soul could have predicted.

 

He walked out and headed down the hallway. Passing the dark green door once again, he remembered the shadow coming out of it. The mental picture of the eyes zooming up towards him. It sent chills down his spine.

His ears perked to footsteps coming around a nearby corner. The sound was followed by an actual person, Sargent Wallace, striding down the halls with the physical force to rival a hippo’s. He stopped, gave a nod to Soul, and brushed by to open the green door. Loud footsteps came as he trodded down the stairs into the darkness, and the door closed behind him with a double click, a sound Soul could only interpret as the throw of a deadbolt.

Back in his room, Soul sat down on his bed and stared at the opposite wall. He tried to remember, did Blake mention anything about leaving? He thought back to their previous conversations: Mike barfing, Mike coming back for him, Mike… Mike wanting revenge for Blake kicking him in the stomach? That had to be it!

But Mike wasn’t like that, was he? Mike was a bully, but he wouldn’t really kidnap Blake- Soul hoped not, at least. And where were all Blake’s friends? Surely they were worried?

He got up and walked over to the window. Down below sat the playground: the rusty swing, the rickety jungle-gym, the broken monkey bars, squeaky merry-go-round, all covered in kids playing.

It was time to go meet some of Blake’s friends.

 

He opened the door and went down the stairs, descending into the mess of tag, catch, and other games Soul couldn’t even identify. The sounds of screaming and laughter were overwhelming: this was where the majority of the kids spent their time, when they weren’t in the cafeteria fighting over food. Definitely not Soul’s scene, he thought, looking around. This place was way too loud and busy for him. But that didn’t matter now.

He scouted for anyone he could remember Blake talking to at lunch the day before. There was definitely a girl with braids, a kid who wouldn’t stop picking his nose, and a kid with a bowl-haircut, right off the bat.

Over in the corner there was a kid with bowl-hair, prodding at the ground with a stick. Soul walked over and approached him.

He got within five feet when the kid swung the stick up and pointed it at Soul’s face. “Not a step closer.”

Soul put his hands up. “Geez, alright, alright. I just wanted to ask you something.

The kid lowered the stick, keeping his eyes on the ground the whole time. “Fine, what is it?”

 _If everybody in the orphanage was this defensive..._ “I was wondering if you knew where Blake was. What’s your name?”

“Martin. And why do you care where Blake is? He can take care of himself.”

“And why should it matter why I care? Maybe I’m just curious.”

“Well, that’s not a good enough reason, anyways. You’re new here aren’t you?”

Soul barred his teeth but remained silent.

Martin smirked. “You’re gonna have to be smarter than that if you wanna get any information out of people here. Go try someone else, dweeb.” He started walking away.

A familiar feeling to Soul: his temperature rising.

“Wait.. who else do you think I should ask?”

Martin continued walking away. “I dunno. Find someone.”

Soul kicked the ground in exasperation. This was going to be more difficult than he’d thought.

Over on the spinning merry-go-round was a girl in a tattered pink dress with pony tails. He walked over and put his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, girl, you know where..” He stopped himself, remembering Martin’s advice to try a different tactic. “Varquist sent me to get Blake, you know where he is?”

The girl brought her head around shot him a glare.

“So you’re with Varquist, huh?”

The response brought instant regret for his previous choice of words.

The girl continued. “We don’t rat to pigs, got it? Tell Varquist she can go shove it up her wrinkly ass.”

Soul cringed from the mental picture and turned back to the playground. That was two leads exhausted, he’d have to be more careful next time. Who knew this place’s politics would be so hard to navigate.. these were grade-school-age kids, already forming these ideas of exclusive networks- he was gonna have to up his game.

He scoured the area, searching for a guy with his finger up his nose. There were plenty of guys that looked like him, but none with such a noticeably disgusting habit- until he saw it, a boy sitting under the jungle-gym, picking his nose like he thought nobody could see.

Soul walked over and sat down by the kid. Now was the time: if he didn’t have the skills to seem relatable and trustworthy this time, well, he wouldn’t get another chance.

The kid stopped picking his nose to appraise the boy now sitting across from him. He looked apprehensive, as if he didn’t think Soul was up to any good. Eyes squinted, he opened his mouth.

“What? You here to pick on me?”

Soul gave a forced chuckle. “What tipped you off?” he said, as sarcastically as he could manage.

The boy still looked skeptical, but continued. “I don’t usually talk to guys like you. You look too preppy.”

Something snapped in Soul’s brain, but he tried brushing it off. “Well, I had something to ask you, is that OK?”

The boy went back to picking his nose. “I guess. What?”

Now was the time for tact. He couldn’t look suspicious, he couldn’t look like he was in line with the establishment.. but how?

Then the idea dawned on him. What was the one thing everybody in the entire playground could relate to? The one thing everybody had in common?

Hating Mike.

He made up his mind and spoke.

“Well, I heard Mike had it out for Blake lately, and-”

The boy chortled. “Well, what else is new?”

Soul let a small smile cross his face. He was in.

“Well, I haven’t seen Blake yet today, and I was hoping Mike didn’t have anything to do with it- have you seen either of them lately?”

The boy appeared to rack his brain. “Well, I know Mike’s out in the corn field bullying some 8-year old right now, but I think it’s a girl. And I haven’t seen Blake since yesterday, now that you mention it.”

Soul took a minute. “Is there anywhere he likes to hang out, stuff like that I could check?”

The boy stopped picking his nose. “Well, I know sometimes when Mike’s angry at someone, he gets the Sargent to lock them in the basement and punish them. But if Blake’s down there, you’ll never get to him.”

The words made Soul’s stomach drop. The green basement door… of course! Was the shadow leading him to Blake before? But that didn’t make sense…

He snapped himself out of his thoughts for a second. “Thanks kid, what’s your name?”

“I’d rather not tell.”

“Understandable.” and Soul got up and ran back inside.

 

His networking skills were undeniably sharpened, but that was already two of Blake’s friends that didn’t trust him now, he thought. Maybe they’d trust him if they knew what he was about to attempt.

He ran up the stairs, hand gliding over the railing, and up to the landing, foot coasting over the top step and slamming down onto the floorboards. In the hall closet, Soul knew there was a crowbar, stashed away from what must have been years previous. He opened the door and found it, laying there just as it had been when he’d first discovered it earlier that day: chipped, but ready for use.

Back downstairs, he thrust the end of the bar into the gap between the green door and the jamb. Was he about to do this? He remembered back to what Varquist had told him on his first day, something about if he broke stuff she’d break him, something similar? He pushed it to the back of his mind and thrust his weight against the bar. The door splintered.

He pushed on it again, and a small piece of wood cracked off the jamb.

Again.

The jamb split apart, freeing the deadbolt, and the door swung open to reveal the dark staircase. Soul picked up the crowbar, and with a gulp, began his way down.

The basement admitted no light, even less than the staircase leading down into it. Soul grappled around in the darkness, in search of a piece of furniture or a wall, of which there seemed to be none.

Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. The only thing visible was a small shaft of light coming down from the staircase, and even that was dim.

Soul had studied the building upon his arrival, and he distinctly remembered seeing basement windows. Looking up at the walls revealed small rectangular outlines: the windows were all covered up, a piece of cardboard neatly taped over each one. He had to wonder why they were covered up, wonder what sort of punishments went on down here that the world could never know about…

Just thinking about it sent chills down his spine. He had to find him.

“Blake?”

The call rang out into the silence, filling all the gaps in his sight yet revealing nothing.

His vision was slowly adjusting to the lack of light, just enough to make out a far wall with a pitch black doorway cut through.

The room on the other side didn’t even benefit from having covered up windows; it looked like there were never any to begin with. His eyes once again struggled to adjust, but it was in vain. There simply wasn’t enough to work with. He stumbled around. A thud came, followed by a sharp pain in his shin. He cursed and took a step back.

“Blake? You down here?”

Then came a sound he wasn’t expecting: a groan, coming from somewhere in the shadows.

Then came a faint jingling of chains. Soul’s ears perked at the sound and he began stumbling through the darkness, desperately in search of the source, not caring if he bumped into furniture. He rammed his hip into a table, and the pain was almost unbearable, but he bit his lip and kept going, kept reaching his way out into the dark, into the depths of the room.

He felt a surface. Running his hands along it, he determined it to be a door.

“Blake! Is that you?!”

A noise, muffled, came from within. “Soul? What are you doing down here?”

Soul’s heart did a small leap, and he frantically searched for the doorknob. Finding it, he flung open the door. The room was small, and the walls were brick. Up in the corner was a minute window, allowing in a small ray of light, a ray which cast itself downwards to reveal a blue-haired boy, crouched in the corner. He was on his knees, with a pair of shackles around both wrists, chained to spikes high on the wall.

“Blake!!” Soul could hardly believe what he had just found; he ran up to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him in disbelief. “Are you alright?!”

Blake looked up from the ground, a sly grin apparent. “Of course! You think they could ever kill me?” His grin was interrupted by a small stream of blood draining from between his teeth.

Soul grimaced. “What did they do?” He tried not to sound too worried, but it came through despite his efforts.

“Don’t worry about that. I could get out any time, if I tried hard enough.” Blake thrashed at the chains and began pulling on them, with all his might, until his neck veins were popping. Finally he gave up and began gasping for air. “If I really wanted to, I could!”

Soul’s amusement was dampered by the sight of bruises and cuts covering Blake’s body. He studied them. Large scratches, bloody sores, covering his arms, and a big gash on his shoulder.

Blake looked at his arms. “I’ve lived through worse.” Soul found that hard to believe, considering Blake’s skin had been practically clear the day before.

That grin. It was still there. The more Soul noticed it, the more disconcerted he became. There was no reason to be so optimistic, so happy right now, so unafraid. What was wrong with this kid…

He got up and headed back for the door. “I’m gonnafind that key and get you out of here, and when I find the General, that Wallis bastard-”

“Wait!”

He turned back to see Blake, eyes wide, looking at him.

“Don’t leave, what if…”

There was a pause, and he hung his head to the ground.

“Go, find the key.”

Soul took a second to think about this, and turned back for the door, less assuredly this time. “You gonna be alright here by yourself?”

Blake took some time to respond. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m the greatest.” There was no joy in the statement.

The trod up the stairs felt wrong, almost as if he shouldn’t be leaving the basement. He came out into the hallway. The warm afternoon light was a shock after the cold dark of the basement rooms. He felt guilty, leaving Blake down there, almost as if it was unfair. That guilt was almost nothing, though, compared to the anger.

Wallis.

When that kid on the playground told him Wallis took people in the basement for punishment, a pit formed in his stomach, but now it had grown. This was unacceptable, how could the person supposed to keep them safe be doing this?

Soul heard footsteps behind him. He turned to the noise, and there behind him was General Wallis, reading a book. Wallis glanced up from the book and his eyes locked on Soul.

Soul felt his heart stop for a second. All that was there was him, and the general; the hallway itself seemed only secondary. What would Wallis think-

The eyes flashed to the splintered basement door, then back to Soul.

The eyes narrowed.

In a split second, Wallis raced up to Soul, dragged him by the arm, and threw him in through the basement doorway. Soul staggered to get his footing on the stairs, but faltered and tumbled down them. He felt the cold basement floor beneath him, signaling he’d met the bottom. The shaft of light narrowed, and he looked up just in time to see Wallis slam the door shut. There was a jingling sound from behind.

Soul picked himself up and ran up the stairs, limping slightly. He grabbed the doorknob and pulled, but the door opened only an inch before it caught on a padlock. Damn, he hadn’t noticed the second lock.

He took a peek in the crack of the door. A malicious grin returned from the other side.

Soul slammed the door in exasperation and went back down to the basement.

Blake perked his head up on hearing Soul walk back in. “Did you find the key?”

A resigned shake of the head was all Soul could manage. He knelt down next to Blake and looked at the cuts on his skin. None appeared to be too deep, but they had left his skin covered in dried, reddish streams.

He felt a pang of pity, something he never thought he’d feel for someone like this. Blake calling himself “the best” all the time; Soul had actually subconsciously been hoping someone would put him in his place. But not like this. Blake’s head was still low to the ground. He had hardly said a word since Soul had walked in. Normally Soul would have appreciated that.

The dream with the ninjas came back to him. He’d felt so jealous of Blake after that dream, so angry and spiteful, yet he couldn’t help but wish he was like that. Now, that jealousy was hard to justify, but the spite was still showing through, he could feel it in his gut.

It wasn’t right. He couldn’t let himself feel that way. Not right now.

He looked up at the point where the chains connected to the wall. They were screwed into the brickwork. He examined the screws- Flatheads.

The ground was covered in small shrapnel. He crouched down and sorted around until he found a thin, flat one.

Blake was examining his actions with a lazy interest. “What are you doing?”

Soul fitted the thin metal into the groove. “I’m trying,” he pried on the metal and felt the screw turn, “to get you out of here.”

“What, you don’t think I can get out myself?”

It remained silent as Soul continued unscrewing the plate from the wall.

Blake began thrashing at the chains for a moment, but it quickly subsided.

 

The screws were all out from the wall. The chains lay on the floor, still dragging from Blake’s wrists, but no longer tethered to the bricks. Blake was staring at the wall, avoiding Soul’s gaze.

The room was full of a hollow silence, a distinct lack of sound. The two stood there, neither acknowledging the other. All that had changed was that Blake was free. At least, that’s how it felt to Soul.

“Soul.”

Soul turned to face Blake, who was still looking away.

“Mh?”

“Thanks.”

Blake turned slightly to the side, just enough for Soul to catch the grin on his face.

 

The chair screeched against the floor.

Blake was busy barricading the door. It had to be done. It was the only way they could keep Wallis out.

They were in Blake’s room. Blake had insisted that they stay in the same room; it was safer than separately, in case Wallis came in the middle of the night to drag them back to the basement. Or Mike, for that matter.

The two would definitely be on the hunt for them: they’d escaped through a basement window and snuck in the side door, taking care to avoid Mike and Wallis, who they overheard talking to Varquist in the office. Wallis was yelling about Soul breaking the basement door, and Mike was riding on his father’s coattails with comments that could be politely described as less-than-insightful. Varquist had said nothing.

Soul plopped down on the bed. The chair’s screeching still came from behind him. He heard Blake give it a kick.

“There! No way they’ll get through that!”

Soul took a look back at the spindly, fragile old piece of furniture currently lodged under the doorknob, and decided to keep his reservations silent.

Blake jumped up on the bed, landing right next to Soul and almost causing him to bounce off the side of the mattress. Soul had to decide between annoyance and amusement, but finally chose the latter just from seeing the grin on Blake’s face.

Then his arm slipped and he crashed to the ground. Back to annoyance.

He heard Blake laughing from up on the bed. “A god would never stoop to sharing a bed! Mwahahaa!”

Soul felt a vein on his forehead. “Well, where the hell am I supposed to sleep then? You lock me in here, then I’m supposed to stay on the floor?!”

Blake shrugged blankly. “Sure, I guess. If that’s all you can find.”

 _Th_ _is ass-monkey_ _._ Soul looked around at the mess of dirty clothes covering the floorboards.

“Fine. But don’t expect me to ever let you stay in my bed, then.”

“Why would I ever need to do that?”

Soul smacked his forehead. “Just forget it. Maybe I’ll go share a room with Tsubaki instead.”

“What, now my floor’s not good enough?!”

Soul smirked and started grabbing up clothes from around him. He dumped them all in a big pile on the floor and flomped down into it.

Blake wrinkled his nose. “You’re actually gonna sleep on that?”

“Better than your bed! You probably kick at night anyway!”

“Well how else am I gonna fight all those ninjas?”

Soul wrinkled his brow for a minute, remembering the dream, but decided not to question it.

-

He was in the dark room again. The void surrounded him, dark and endless as ever, an eternal emptiness. Empty except for one thing.

Blake was standing some distance away. He was looking decidedly in another direction, motionless.

A ninja came out from above. It launched into Blake, who was knocked to the ground. Soul watched, silent as the ninja beat Blake, repeatedly. No sign of a break. Over, over, unrelenting with each punch, each punch producing a blunt sound.

Soul tried to run over, but realized he wasn’t getting any closer. His feet were moving in place. He kept running, but could only watch as the ninja continued, punch by punch. After punch. And another, and another.

He caught something in the periphery of his vision. It was the shadow.

It smiled.

-

His eyes snapped open. A ceiling lingered high above him. It was still dark, but he felt the pile of rank clothes beneath him and realized he was still in Blake’s room.

He turned his head to the side and saw Blake, sprawled on the floor next to him.

Soul held his breath to listen. He heard quiet breathing and deduced Blake was sleeping. Good. He didn’t feel like dealing with him right now.

He remembered the dream. Laying back down, he still wasn’t sure what he’d meant by the ninjas comment. Blake couldn’t know about his dreams, could he? Had he been talking in his sleep?

There was a faint sound. He looked over and saw Blake twitching. Then his leg gave a jerk. He kicked and started squirming.

“… get off me… stupid … hey…” He swung a fist up in the air, then rolled over onto his side and was silent once more.

Soul kept staring at Blake for a minute until it was obvious he was done moving. He rolled back onto his back. There were so many abstract fragments of thoughts squirming around in his head, but he just couldn’t pick one to focus on.

 

It had been hours. He was still there, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. The thoughts just wouldn’t leave him alone: the new atmosphere living at the orphanage, the way his life was just floating from one orphanage to the next with no aim or goal, the way he was now in a room with the one person he was friends with, and how lucky he was to even have a friend at this place… it was all just so much going on so soon. And now the administration likely wanted him dead, or at least were going to kick him out. He wondered where he’d go when that happened; there weren’t many places left, not many that would take him at least, given his record. He looked over at Blake again and wondered if he had the same problems.

Blake’s breathing stopped. He lay there for a few moments, then looked over at Soul with eyelids half-closed. “Hey. Whatcha thinkin about?”

“Not much. I can’t sleep.”

“Wanna take the mattress?”

Like a dog in garbage, Soul rolled around in the clothes. “I’m pretty settled in right here, I think I’m good.”

Blake breathed in some semblance of a faint laugh. “I can’t believe you agreed to sleep like that, you didn’t actually have to…”

Soul rolled his eyes mentally at the hypocrisy. It wasn’t even that bad anyways.

His ears perked up. There was a noise outside the door. Two people whispering.

Then a bang on the door.

And another.

Blake leapt up and ran to the door. The banging came at a steady rate. Each time, the door shivered violently.

It wouldn’t stop.

Blake ran back over to Soul and grabbed him by the wrist. He leaned down and whispered. “Come on, that’s probably Wallis and Varquist. They must be trying to chop down the door.”

Soul’s eyes grew wide. He did some quick thinking, got up and went to open the window. “Watch this, one of my friends taught me this back at Collsworth.”

Blake watched as Soul went over to the bed and tore off the sheets. He tied them together at the corners, walked to the door, and tied the end of the chain around the doorknob. Blake had a sneaky smile, looking at the pile of sheet-rope. Soul walked over to the window, grabbed the sheet-rope, and tossed the pile out the window. “Come on, follow me.”

The broken corn stalks nipped at their ankles as they ran though the field. Blake had closed the window behind them to help buy them some time, but Soul wondered whether it would be enough. They reached the trees at the edge of the clearing and looked back. The orphanage still sat there, hulked and dark as ever, a dim black sky above it.

“It’s probably about three in the morning, we should have some time before it gets light out.” Blake turned and stared into the dense woods.

Soul took one last look at the building, imagining Wallis and Varquist breaking into the room and wondering where they went, searching under the beds. He turned to and headed into the woods, and heard Blake following behind him.

“Soul, you know what they say about that place.”

“What?”

Blake took a while to respond. “They say no one can stay away forever. One day, they always come back.”

Soul swallowed and heard a twig break under his foot.

 

 


End file.
